


Never a Choice

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cara discovers a certain truth with a certain finality: feelings are hard (but sometimes worth it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never a Choice

The stronghold loomed in front of Cara like a mountain, built as it was from the dark stone of a nearby quarry. The massive walls were reportedly jet black and sleek as steel once, but age had worn them dark gray and rutted and ivy was slowly taking over with a mockingly bright green. She rode slowly, purposefully, guiding her mount to the main gate and locking her gaze on a soldier outside in thick chainmail. He stared back at her from behind the pike he held before him. It looked to Cara like the weapon was holding up the man, not the other way around.

“What are you doing outside the walls?” he called out. “You’d better have a good answer for the captain.”

Cara wasn’t sure whether to laugh or trample him down, but as much as the latter might help her mood, it wouldn’t help her purpose here. She stopped her mount so close he could feel its breath, and then she moved a little closer. “I answer to no one save the Mother Confessor,” she informed him as he stared cross-eyed at the horse’s nose. “I’m here on her authority, and it would be dangerous for your immediate health for me to feel insulted. You may try again.”

He swallowed, straightening himself as he shifted his pike to the side a little. “State your business? Mistress…”

At least he knew how to address Mord-Sith. “Cara,” she said. “I am here to see your Lord Cadran. I carry an important message for him.” She urged her mount forward a little.

“Welcome to Caer Pendisan, Mistress Cara,” he said, flattening himself against the wall. “I will show you to my liege.”

***

As Cara waited in the small receiving hall, it soon became apparent why her porter had been under such a strange impression. Mord-Sith were walking the halls. Not a great many, but enough to make her curious. Cadran was an upstart, a self-made leader who hadn’t held lordship over Pendisan Reach more than six months, but if he was able to recruit Mord-Sith to serve him he might be more dangerous than Kahlan gave him credit for. Sisters of the Agiel could not be easily bought. They would accept payment without complaint, but were mainly inspired to serve those they deemed worthy.

 _Kahlan_. She began to pace. The interior of the caer was chilled despite the relative warmth outside. It was as if the dark stone sucked away any heat, emanating coldness in its place. The pitiful fire in the hearth at the head of the room was not helping.

She had taken on such a mission, days in the saddle alone, as a short respite; to get away for a bit. To breathe under the open sky, away from white walls and strict rules and a suffocating sense that she was always on the verge of breaking something. Her thoughts during the journey, however, had stayed firmly where she left them—right in Kahlan’s bedchambers.

***

 _“I never made any promises,” Cara snapped. “Do you remember what I said?”_

 _“Refresh my memory,” Kahlan said, her tone clipped. She stood with hands joined in front of her white dress. Their bed behind her might as well be Kahlan’s throne._

 _“I said I would try.”_

 _“Is that what you’ve been doing?”_

 _“Yes!” Cara hissed. “Ever since we walked under the gates of your city, I have been trying.”_

 _Kahlan’s gaze softened a little. Cara’s resolve did not._

 _“I know this is hard for you,” Kahlan began. “It’s an adjustment for me, too. I spent so long—”_

 _“You were raised to become this,” Cara interrupted. “I was made into something that couldn’t be more different.”_

 _Kahlan looked away, down to the floor between them. “When I chose you over Richard, I…” She paused to take a step forward, closer to Cara. “I don’t know what to give you to make this home for you, Cara. I wish I did.”_

 _Shapeless words stuck in Cara’s throat, things she couldn’t describe. Nothing made sense. She wanted impossible things, conflicting things—to stay and to run. So she didn’t say anything at all._

 _Kahlan took the silence as some sort of coda and glanced to her, hooking hair behind her ear. “Come to bed?” she asked softly._

 _Cara took a step back. “No. I’m leaving.”_

***

Her stomach twisted, just like it did every time she remembered her own words. The sound of them, the way they echoed in her thoughts, and the way she had been met with a loud silence when she turned away and actually left. She hadn’t decided on dealing with the problem of Pendisan Reach until she’d ridden half the night away. At least she’d have accomplished something beyond brooding when she returned.

Cara paused her pacing; it had been nearly a candlemark. The food on the broad table was cold and the drink warm, not that she was interested in either. Cadran was a fool for risking her ire, making her wait.

Her idle gaze on a doorway became less so when someone crossed it. Time seemed to slow just enough for Cara to catch a glimpse of a very familiar face, strange in its removal from familiar settings and times past. “Dahlia?” she murmured.

Her feet moved of their own accord, but by the time she reached the doorway the adjacent corridor was empty. Her hand gripped the stone corner, and as coldness seeped through her glove so did her sureness leave her. It could have been anyone. Brown leather, pale skin, and a dark braid were apparently shared by more than a few inhabitants of the caer.

“Mistress Cara, I assume.”

The voice at her back startled her. Whoever it was, Cara cursed his timing and him with it.

When she turned with deliberate slowness, there was little doubt of the man’s identity—the smooth silk and felt of his clothes, colored the blue and black of Pendisan Reach, were laced with gold. His cape was trimmed with fur despite the summer weather. Cara was vaguely surprised to see his handsome head bare of a crown.

“Take me to Lord Cadran,” she said flatly. “I didn’t come here to speak with overdressed stewards.”

He took the blatant insult with a graceful smile that appeared far too genuine. “But I am he. My apologies for the delay. I was attending to matters of state. You understand.”

“Cadran, then. There is only one matter of state that should have your attention.”

Despite the lack of title, his smile stayed and already appeared stretched too thin. “I must admit—I am surprised to see a Mord-Sith as an emissary of the Mother Confessor. Your kind have their uses, but I imagined carrying messages to be a waste of their talents.”

An emissary. Cara nearly smirked, but he was welcome to think as much. “You have a problem,” she said instead. “Since assuming leadership of Pendisan Reach, you haven’t sworn fealty by means of tribute.”

“Fealty,” Cadran echoed, clasping his hands behind his back. His tone was changing, barely, but Cara noticed. “That is a rather strange word for such a relationship between the Mother Confessor and her vassal kings, queens, and lords. I give her gold and riches, and in return she chooses not to attack or replace me. That is more akin to extortion than anything, is it not?”

His voice was smooth, his demeanor smoother, and his words dangerous. Cara offered him a thin smile and stepped closer. “If you choose not to pay tribute, you forfeit your seat on the Central Council and lose your position in the Midlands Alliance. You’re obviously very new to all of this, but secession is considered one step from an act of war.”

His jaw bulged at her condescension, but only for the smallest moment. “Such an important decision. You understand I will need time to reach one? Two days should suffice.”

Sarcasm was something she understood well, whether intentional or not. “I leave tomorrow morning,” Cara said. “With promise of tribute or without.”

***

Her quarters for the night, once inspected thoroughly for unpleasant surprises and openings for new ones, served well enough. Her armor as a representative of the Mother Confessor didn’t make her completely untouchable. The fireplace was thankfully warm enough for the small room, and the bed was the perfect size for relaxing on while trying to decide whether she’d actually seen Dahlia.

She drew an Agiel from her belt, quickly getting lost in thoughts and memories as she touched it to her fingertips. Things were simpler back then. There were her Sisters of the Agiel, whom she respected, and her Lord Rahl, whom she served. Then there was Dahlia, with whom she had shared so much—warm beds and sharp pain and whispered promises in the blackest of nights. Messy blood oaths made as young Mord-Sith, together, to stay at each other’s sides through however many deaths awaited them in the service of their Lord.

Cara sat up. The Agiel she was clutching so tightly fell onto the sheets around her, and in the resulting silence she heard it again. A key in the lock. She shifted quietly off of the bed, quickly sheathing the Agiel. Her hand hovered over the tip as she padded beside the door to wait.

It opened silently. While she recognized the braid, the form, and the skin of the woman stepping carefully into her room, and while Cadran would be a fool to send an assassin this early in the night, she would take no chances.

Just as she was about to drive her Agiel into the base of the stranger’s skull, dropping them to their knees no matter their tolerance for pain, she turned.

“You,” Cara murmured, stricken.

“Cara? Is it…”

“It is,” she confirmed, sheathing her Agiel. “Dahlia, what are you doing here?”

“I am serving High Lord Cadran,” she said, brow furrowed as she clearly thought of other things. “With my Sisters. I heard there was a Mistress Cara, and I never met any other. I had to…”

“Sneak in?” Cara offered. “You know full well that surprising me is dangerous.”

“I was no less in danger than from knocking,” Dahlia answered, a smile curling her lips. “Your Agiel has always been quicker than your thoughts. I thought you might not recognize me until after it left my chest.”

Cara turned, slowly closing the door behind her. She was unsettled, off balance, and the emotions roiling in her belly were nearly making her feel light-headed. “I never thought to see you again,” she offered, finding Dahlia standing at the foot of the bed. “When Rahl ordered me to a different temple.”

“Are you here to join us?” Dahlia asked, her dark eyes revealing something akin to hope. “High Lord Cadran has such plans, Cara. We could serve him, together.”

“High Lord? I thought it was just Lord.”

Dahlia’s mouth twisted into a conspiratorial smirk. “Pendisan Reach will be growing. When it does, High Lord will be his title to many people. Cara, I.”

Cara nearly took a step back when Dahlia stepped closer. She wasn’t even sure why. “He means to overcome other nations? How?”

“He has an arrangement with Tamarang,” Dahlia said softly. “Together, they will conquer and create a force large enough to march on Aydindril. Cara, why are you here? Can you stay?”

Cara blinked at the news. No one told her of Cara’s present purpose and she was oblivious to their differing allegiances. It was fairly obvious from her manner, but it was still reassuring to hear. “I have a place,” Cara said carefully. “I won’t be staying.”

Dahlia nodded in acceptance, but Cara tensed when the other woman raised a hand to trail down her shoulder and arm. “Red leather,” Dahlia murmured. “Who do you serve that lets you fulfill your purpose in such a way? It’s been so long since I’ve had occasion to wear mine. To break a will, train someone.”

Her touch was so painfully familiar that Cara nearly returned it. Her thoughts, or lack thereof, were becoming dangerously thin. “It doesn’t matter who I serve,” she muttered.

“You’re right.” Dahlia lifted her hands, cupping Cara’s neck. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re here, now.”

When Dahlia moved to kiss her, Cara thought she might snap from the tension in her muscles. She wanted to stay still, to let Dahlia’s lips touch her own, and she wanted to shove her away, to tell her the closest thing to truth she could risk.

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia whispered, so impossibly close. Cara felt soft breath on her lips. “Cara, you look frightened. What is it?”

“You could always—” Cara swallowed. “You read me like a Confessor would a common villager.”

Kahlan couldn’t read her. Not when Cara truly tried to hide things. She was under the impression that she could, that they were special somehow. Cara let her think as much.

“I know you, Cara.” Dahlia brushed their lips together, barely, but Cara turned away, giving the Mord-Sith her cheek.

“No,” Cara whispered, and the word hurt in every way she thought it would and wouldn’t.

Dahlia stepped back and set her shoulders. “Tell me,” she said, command cutting through her tone. “What is going on? You refuse a kiss?”

“I don’t know,” Cara snapped. It was nearly the truth, but she had hurt Kahlan already in taking her short leave and she knew giving in to Dahlia’s touch would be even worse. “I don’t want to hurt her,” she sighed under her breath, almost hoping Dahlia hadn’t heard. She did.

“So you ‘have a place’,” Dahlia said icily. “Who is she?”

“You would be jealous?” Cara asked, disbelief lending strength to her voice. “How many years has it been?”

“We swore our lives to each other. Did you forget? Was it beaten out of you? Was I?”

“No,” Cara protested. “It’s not like that.”

She suddenly felt like a child accused of the horrible crime of spilling milk. It was not a good feeling.

“Then explain things to me clearly, Cara. Tell me who inspires such devotion in a Mord-Sith that she cannot share a cursed _kiss_ with a Sister of the Agiel. A lover. Such restraint is unbecoming.”

“She is…” Cara searched for words that a Mord-Sith would understand, searched for ways to tell Dahlia that she had changed. That she was not the same, that there was a new part of her, or maybe old, that was just as strong in her as her training ever was. “She broke me piece by piece,” Cara said quietly. “But it wasn’t through pain. All that was left in the end was me. Then she…”

Cara’s brow furrowed deeply and she continued, raising a hand to Dahlia’s cheek. “We barely knew each other before we were taken by the Mord-Sith. We were too young to make those promises. If you ever loved me, Dahlia, you loved what they made me. Not me.”

“And she loves _you_ ,” Dahlia said, her voice dangerously empty, unresponsive to Cara’s touch.

“She says she does,” Cara said numbly, dropping her hand. “I don’t know.”

She should have expected the strike of an Agiel. It caught her off guard, and it hurt—even more when it stayed, screaming against her skin as Dahlia pressed it to her cheek. The vision in her right eye began fading, going dark as pain set the side of her face aflame, but Cara didn’t move until Dahlia stole a kiss from her, suddenly and forcefully. Cara knew Dahlia felt the Agiel’s anger in her own lips even as she tore away.

“Does she do that for you?” Dahlia asked, tauntingly. “Taste your pain? You love the taste of mine. Here.” She dragged a gloved finger lightly across her own cheek. “Draw your Agiel.”

Cara blinked as her vision returned. “No.”

Dahlia surged forward. She slammed her bodily against the door, pressed herself to Cara, and reached for her wrists as she whispered in her ear. “Whoever she is, she could never be what I am to you. Everything I gave you willingly because it gave you pleasure. The things I let you do to my body…and the things you did for me…have you forgotten, Cara?”

Dahlia guided Cara’s hands over her sides, her back, and then lower. Cara closed her eyes as her palms found the curves she knew so well, warm under leather. “Dahlia,” she sighed. Her closeness and her scent were intoxicating, bringing up vivid memories of nights lost in delirious pleasure. Her leg shifted forward a little and Dahlia hummed approvingly, setting herself upon it.

Arousal rushed into Cara, but all she could think of were Kahlan’s lips, soft against her own, Kahlan’s hands, hesitant but firm in their touch, and Kahlan’s body, strong but yielding. It still took coaxing for the Confessor’s lips to part and accept deeper kisses during their lovemaking. Cara was ever amused, but never showed it.

“Dahlia.” Her hands moved to the Mord-Sith’s hips and shoved her away, forcefully. “I would think of her.”

It was the truth, but also an excuse Dahlia would understand. Telling her she would be betraying Kahlan by taking Dahlia to bed would only further her spite, and she didn’t understand the concept well enough to explain it. It was something she felt.

Somehow, she didn’t expect hurt in Dahlia’s expression. She almost missed it, soon replaced as it was by indifference. But then, again, it flickered there. For a moment. She was having trouble. “So you’ll leave,” she said calmly.

Cara nodded.

“I could leave with you,” Dahlia ventured. “I won’t hold you to your oath, but…during the journey back, to whatever place you have, maybe you will remember. If you let me come with you, you will remember what I am to you. That you love me. And if you still choose her when we arrive there, I will return here. I swear it.”

“I already remember,” Cara said softly. “I am sorry.”

“Mord-Sith do not apologize,” Dahlia snapped.

“Mord-Sith do not speak of love,” Cara retorted.

“I only ever have with you.”

Cara bit her tongue so hard it hurt. She tasted blood, and memories.

“Come away with me,” Dahlia pleaded, taking her pause for license to try again. “The Mord-Sith are no longer tied by any higher purpose. We could go away. We could find someone worthy, to serve, or we could…just.”

“Be together,” Cara murmured. Dahlia had always been the one to whisper such things back when the words were blasphemy worthy of a permanent death.

It would be so easy. They could take two horses in the morning and ride, living off of the land until they found someone appreciative of the services Mord-Sith could offer. It felt like her choice was already made, that her future was decided. Dahlia was supposed to be her mate—everything about them fit together. They were broken together, made together, and served together. There were things that Dahlia knew about her, that Dahlia had done with her, that would ensure Kahlan never looked at her the same way again.

But there was one thought, a realization, that offered rationale for a different choice, and she seized onto it with the desperation of one a breath away from drowning.

“It won’t be the same,” Cara said. “Every kiss I give you will be empty now that I’ve tasted hers.”

Dahlia looked away, hesitating. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Cara offered.

The Mord-Sith stared hard at Cara, and after a fair stretch of silence, resignation showed in her eyes and the tone of her voice. “I wish…”

Cara leaned forward, slipped a hand behind her neck, and kissed Dahlia on her cheek—roughly, fiercely. They were Mord-Sith, after all. “Wish for things without me,” Cara said.

Once Dahlia was gone, closing the door behind her without incident, Cara pressed her back to it. She looked carefully around the room, and after determining with utter finality that there were no secret holes with eyes watching, slid down against it. Then she pulled her knees to her chest, set her arms across them, and bowed her head.

***

He kept her waiting again, not that Cara expected anything different. The single sunbeam stretching across the hall was slowly receding as the morning fell away, and Cara was quickly growing tired of watching motes of dust drift through it. When Cadran finally showed, it was with exaggerated bustle and quick breaths. Cara wondered if he had just run circles around the caer to help his appearance.

“Matters of state?” she offered drily.

“Personal, this time.” He smiled. “Your kind can be very persuasive in their attempts to keep a man in his bed.”

Cara tensed. If Dahlia… “Your answer?” she asked tersely.

“Always straight to business,” he sighed. “Will you not break your fast? I would hate for my hospitality to be in question when you give your report.”

“My report will consist of a yes or a no.”

“Ah, but I can do better.” He produced a small scroll from his side with a flourish, and raised his brow before tossing it to her. “There is your answer.”

Cara looked at it, rolled tight with the seal of Pendisan in wax. As she tucked it into her belt, she wondered what kind of fancy lies in flowing script it held.

A steward rushed into the room presently, and Cadran grimaced at the interruption before lending his ear to a short whisper. His frown deepened. “You know I don’t know their names. You say ‘Daaahlia’ as if it means something to me.” He threw a glance to Cara, who remained expressionless. “Maybe I gave you Mord-Sith too much credit. Your flightiness was utterly absent from the legends and stories.”

“Flightiness?” Cara inquired.

“Apparently, one of them stole a horse and fled late last night.”

Cara held her tongue. It was easy; there was too much relief and worry and sadness for her to form a coherent retort. At least there was a little amusement as well. Lord Cadran was nearly pouting. “Did I not pay her enough?” he wondered. “Am I not inspiring with my speeches? I was told the Mord-Sith appreciated a man with vision.”

“You are nothing but, my Lord,” the steward assured him.

Cadran waved him away before frowning at Cara. “Why are you still here? Go tell your whore of a Mother Confessor that she’ll get her tribute.”

Cara raised her brow.

***

The stable master, a stout man, emerged from the outbuilding as she was swinging up into the saddle. The warm sun was a welcome change from the dark and frigid caer, and Cara was almost looking forward to the ride back. Her mood was greatly improved.

“Are ye Cara?” he called out, breathing heavily by the time he drew closer.

“I am.”

He peeked up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. “A Mord-Sith made me swear to deliver a message to ye. She said…” He squinted, cocking his head with clear effort to recall the words. “She said, ‘Tell the blonde one in red leather that I’ll wait for a week in the city of—’”

“Stop,” Cara interrupted, flicking the reins. “I don’t want to hear the rest.”

He appeared confused as she departed, but that was not her problem.

***

Aydindril, being nestled up in the mountains, wore a blanket of chilled air no matter the season. The many and massive hearths in the Confessor’s Palace were a testament to such, ever keeping the white walls and open interiors warm. Cara always wondered if they were fueled by magic—she never saw them dark and cold and rarely spotted them being replenished with fresh fuel. She was especially suspicious of the fireplaces in the Mother Confessor’s personal rooms.

To say that Kahlan appeared troubled would be an understatement. Cara had sent word of her return and waited in their bedchambers, not entirely sure what to expect, but she hadn’t planned on this whatsoever. The Mother Confessor looked haggard as she walked into the room in her white dress, and dark circles under her eyes spoke of fatigue and restless nights. “Kahlan, what happened?” Cara asked in a rush, instantly before her with gloved hands raised to her face. “You look sick.”

Emotion strained Kahlan’s skin, hardening her countenance. She appeared to be struggling with words, finally settling on bringing a hand to cover one of Cara’s over her cheek. When Kahlan leaned forward and kissed her, there was such desperation that Cara’s brow furrowed. Kahlan pressed urgent kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, even raising herself to reach for her forehead before Cara stopped her, questioning with her expression.

“I thought you left,” Kahlan explained softly, her eyes flicking between Cara’s.

“I did leave,” she pointed out.

“No…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Cara felt like she’d just taken an arrow to the chest. Several, in fact.

“You said those things, and then you said you were leaving.” Kahlan swallowed, looking away. “I thought you were done trying. That I wasn’t enough.”

“I never meant…” Cara felt like a child again, this time accused of running off and worrying her mother. This time, though, she deserved the guilt wrenching at her insides. “Kahlan, I’m…” Cara shook her head. If she could apologize to Dahlia, she could apologize to Kahlan. “I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I never meant…I wasn’t thinking.”

Kahlan nodded and stepped back, attempting to collect herself. “Cara, I would understand if you needed time away. You could tell me you needed months away from me and my city. I would understand. Just promise me you’re coming back before you go.”

Cara hung her head. “I will never need time apart from you,” she vowed. “It’s…”

“I know,” Kahlan soothed. “This is neither a Mord-Sith temple or open wilderness.”

“It’s not. But Kahlan, you’re here, and you will always be enough,” she said firmly. “I know that now. I realized that when…”

Kahlan waited patiently, and it was Cara’s turn to collect herself and decide how much to tell her. “I met someone from my past, by chance,” she said at length.

“Oh?”

“A Mord-Sith. An old…friend.” Cara looked down. “A lover,” she admitted.

“Oh,” Kahlan said softly.

“You’re not upset?” Cara ventured.

“All you’ve told me is that you met her. I can hardly be angry with you for that.”

“She kissed me, but I…didn’t.”

“Oh,” Kahlan whispered.

“I kissed her before she left, but on the cheek,” Cara admitted. “I didn’t bed her.”

Kahlan’s lips curled up, barely. “You kissed another Mord-Sith on the cheek?”

Cara nodded.

Kahlan’s smile grew a little, and relief flooded Cara as her dimples showed. “I almost don’t believe you,” she confessed.

“Dahlia is an exceptional Mord-Sith. She was always different.”

“Dahlia,” Kahlan wondered aloud. “Are you sure I have no need to be jealous?”

“Completely,” Cara promised. “And there’s something else.”

“Oh?”

The words left her in a rush; she was somehow more ashamed of this than anything else. “I can lie to you if I truly want to. You think I can’t, but I can. I have.”

Kahlan’s eyes widened before she crossed her arms and thought for a moment. “Were they about anything important? Your lies.”

Cara narrowed her gaze, pausing in thought as well. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright,” Kahlan said quietly. “Thank you for telling me.” She gave a wry smile. “It would seem we’re not fated to be together in any way after all.”

“So it would seem,” Cara agreed. “That’s what makes it hard.”

“Cara…thank you for coming back.” Kahlan enveloped her in a crushing hug, and Cara searched for something suitable to say as she returned the embrace.

“Thank you for not being angry,” she ventured.

Kahlan kissed her, slowly this time, then gave her a stern look and held her at arm’s length. “I ordered your room prepared,” she said.

Cara frowned.

***

She woke halfway through the night, alone in her personal quarters—such was Kahlan’s idea of punishment—and pushed the sheets off of her naked skin as she sat up. Someone was at the door. When it opened and darkness gave way to torchlight from the corridor, Cara quickly and deftly laid back down and turned away, onto her side.

Kahlan padded her way to the small bed, stripped her shift before joining her under the sheets, and kissed Cara’s bare shoulder as she wrapped herself around her.

Cara smiled and pretended she was still asleep.

***

The next day, Kahlan looked much better after sleeping in and being soundly caught giving in on her own punishment. Cara even brought her breakfast, rolling her eyes at Kahlan’s sheepish glances as she ate in Cara’s bed.

But that night they were back in Kahlan’s bed, and neither of them were feigning sleep. It was far bigger, making it better suited for other things. Cara was sitting up against the headboard, surrounded by pillows, and as Kahlan relaxed against her chest, between Cara’s legs, Cara’s hand began questing with a certain purpose under the Confessor’s skirts.

“I killed Lord Cadran,” she said suddenly, just as her fingers found naked skin. Kahlan tensed.

“You did what?”

Cara ran her hand up Kahlan’s smooth thigh and began teasing the laces at her chest with her other. “He was plotting against you with Tamarang. He hadn’t sent tribute because he hoped to delay long enough to make his move.”

Kahlan groaned as Cara’s hand finally reached between her legs. “Oh spirits,” she sighed. “This will be complicated. Cara, you can’t…do that. But how did you find out?”

“I learned the first part from Dahlia.” Cara began stroking her sex. “The second from the letter he sent you.”

“I never got a letter,” Kahlan observed, reaching up to bat Cara’s hand away and tug at the laces herself.

“It wasn’t really relevant once I killed him,” Cara offered. “It just said he would send tribute in six months.”

“You should let me handle these things,” she said, viciously pulling at the strings.

“The code of Aydindril says the life of anyone who plots against you is forfeit.”

Kahlan’s thighs closed around Cara’s hand, trapping her in the heat there, but only a for a moment. “Cara, you expect me to believe you read the code of Aydindril?”

“I skimmed,” Cara said defensively, quickening her strokes a little. “It’s somewhat long.”

Kahlan shrugged her dress down from her shoulders to her belly and begin loosening her corset. “Then I suppose you’ll be disappearing again tomorrow to assassinate various members of Tamarang’s court?”

Cara smiled. “Say the word.”

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Kahlan reprimanded.

“I wasn’t going to, but he called you a whore. Then I had to.”

“I don’t keep you here to defend my honor, Cara,” she sighed, leaning forward to pull her corset free. She tossed it to the foot of the bed and reclined back against Cara’s chest. “I’m in a position of leadership. It will happen.”

Cara wasted no time massaging her newly freed breasts with her spare hand, ample and tempting as they ever were. “It’s simple. If someone shows you such disrespect and I hear it, or hear about it, I kill them. Maybe you should issue an official decree of warning.”

Kahlan moaned, leaning her head back against Cara’s shoulder.

“Is that a yes?” Cara inquired.

Kahlan raised her hips up off the bed, barely, and Cara complied, finally sinking two fingers into Kahlan’s slick heat. The Confessor’s breath caught. “No,” she said. “Cara, there will be killing…for…of any such words.”

Cara smirked. “There will?” She teased a taut nipple and kissed her neck, angling her head to get around the thin silver of the Rada’Han.

“No killing. There will be no killing,” Kahlan corrected herself in a rush. “Cara, what happened to Dahlia? You just said she left.”

“You want me to think of her right now?” Cara inquired, amazed.

“I trust you,” Kahlan said. Her hips picked up Cara’s rhythm, rolling slightly to meet her movements.

“Dahlia is a strong Mord-Sith. I was always her weakness, even if she didn’t see it. She’ll be fine.” Cara toyed with her breasts, palming and lifting their weight, teasing their peaks in all the ways she knew they both enjoyed. Kahlan was getting close, her breathing becoming ragged.

“Wait,” she gasped suddenly. “How did you kill Lord Cadran? You said he had Mord-Sith in his service. They could just…”

Cara’s fingers continued their work under her dress, driving Kahlan ever closer to her release. “I knocked his steward unconscious. Without killing him,” she added proudly. “Then I dragged Cadran into a storage room and tortured him for information on his contacts and corruption in Tamarang. He had a knife on his belt, so I tore his throat open to assure the Breath of Life couldn’t bring him back. After I killed him with an Agiel to the chest. Cleaner that way.”

“Oh,” Kahlan moaned. “I see. Cara…”

Her backside rose completely off the bed before sinking down, back between Cara’s own legs. The Confessor’s breasts were heaving as Cara splayed her free hand across her chest. She quickened her pace with her other, angling her fingers just so, and soon Kahlan was arching against her, body taut and tense, as Cara drove her over the edge and kept her there.

When it was over, Cara didn’t even wait long enough for Kahlan to recover before teasing her. “I didn’t know the Mother Confessor had such a weakness for tales of violence during her pleasure.”

Kahlan, still limp in her arms and catching her breath, threw her head back into Cara’s shoulder and groaned. “You know I don’t. I was curious. Do I get any recognition for such things not bothering me, at least?”

“I suppose,” Cara offered, idly wrapping her arms around Kahlan’s naked front and setting her chin on her shoulder. Truthfully, it was more telling than she knew. It reminded Cara that the woman in her arms was a Confessor, that she had heard some of the ugliest truths imaginable from the mouths of her confessed. Maybe she could handle the darkness of Cara’s past just as easily.

Kahlan ran her own hands up and down Cara’s arms. “I would fight her for you, you know,” she said softly.

“Dahlia?”

Kahlan nodded, turning her head. She could only reach Cara’s jaw, so she kissed her there. “I would fight her for you and I would win.”

“She’s a fierce warrior,” Cara warned, unsure of how literal Kahlan’s vow was. “She’s ever been my equal.”

Kahlan broke free of Cara’s light hold, turning to sit and face her. “I would win, because there’s no way I would lose you.”

Her eyes, the way Kahlan was searching her gaze in earnest, arrested Cara with a familiar and overwhelming sense of something she was sure of but couldn’t name. “Every time you look at me like that,” Cara murmured, “I believe it a little more.”

“Believe what?”

“That you love me,” Cara said quietly. “And that I…”

“I do love you, Cara. I’ve told you as much.”

“I know, but I believe it more. When you look at me like that.”

“Oh,” Kahlan said softly. She shifted and nestled herself against Cara’s side, draping Cara’s arm around her neck. “I would win,” she repeated.

“Kahlan, you already have.”


End file.
